


The Best Man, or, Five Guys, Two Beds, and a Wedding Ring

by Ailelie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, Hangover, Implied Slash, Las Vegas, M/M, Slash in the second chapter, Trope Inversion, Woke Up Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:11:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailelie/pseuds/Ailelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Toews woke up in a hotel room that wasn't his with four other hockey players. ...What the hell happened? (Now with bonus chapter that makes the implied slash obvious and addresses the question: So you just woke up sorta-married to your boyfriend--what the hell happens next?) [August 2015: Edited to remove Kane].</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Toews

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BoyGirlBothNoneImTheUniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoyGirlBothNoneImTheUniverse/gifts).



> So, on my tumblr, I posted that I had a horrible plot bunny that I needed to trick or trade someone into writing. ...and to my surprise, someone took me up on my offer. So, here is my end of the deal. I hope they enjoy it.
> 
> [August 2015: This fic was edited to remove mentions of Patrick Kane. Comments prior to August 2015 refer to the original version.]

“With temperatures reaching up past the mid-90s, we’re in for another hot, sunny day. Tourists are reminded that--”

 

Jonathan Toews pushed up on his elbows, the stubbled carpet digging into his elbows, and blinked hard at the wide television screen. He ran his tongue over his teeth and winced at the dry cotton-feel of his mouth and the slow tempo pounding behind his left eye.

 

“What the hell--” he wondered aloud, his voice gruff. He coughed and looked at the two beds on either side of him. In one, a guy was starfished, his head turned away from Johnny. A convenient blanket suggested he was either wearing briefs or nothing. In the other bed was a knot of limbs. He could make out Tyler Seguin with a heel shoved up under his chin, but not the other two.

 

The television switched to a car commercial with a girl whose squeak of a voice jabbed needles into Johnny’s brain. He sat up and scanned the stand behind him, hoping to find the controller. Instead, gleaming on the edge of the nightstand, sat a wedding ring.

 

“Shit.”

 

Johnny stood, wavering under the pounding of his headache, and stumbled to the bathroom, turning off the tv with a vicious poke to the power button as he went. First he’d deal with his hangover. Then, the ring. Maybe one of the guys still sleeping was married.

 

The hotel had a toiletries kit and he stole the provided toothpaste. He brushed his teeth with his finger, washed his face, and steeled himself before going back into the bedroom. The others were still sleeping and starfish man had begun snoring. Johnny found his jeans by one of the dressers and fished out his phone.

 

He ignored the slew of texts in favor of calling Corey. “Tell me no one got married last night,” he said, interrupting Corey’s ‘good morning.’

 

Corey chuckled. "I was wondering when you'd call me about that."

 

“Explain?”

 

“You texted me last night about being a best man. I tried to get details, but you never answered. Where are you, anyway?”

 

“In a hotel room. Tyler Seguin’s here, too. Plus three other guys.” Johnny walked around the beds. “Uh, looks like Benn--”

 

“Makes sense.”

 

Johnny flipped back one blanket corner. “One of the Schenns. The older one, maybe.”

 

“The Flyer? Weird.”

 

“And--” Johnny walked around the window. “Ovechkin.”

 

Corey laughed. "So, Ovechkin, Luke Schenn, Tyler Seguin, and Jamie Benn."

 

“And me."

 

"And you."

 

"Please tell me one of them is married.”

 

“I’m sure whoever you best-manned is long gone on his honeymoon now. Not knocked out in a hotel room with you.”

 

“There’s a wedding ring,” Johnny said, flatly. “Can you check Twitter? See if anything--”

 

“Sure. Just give me a sec to grab--got it. Seguin didn't post anything. Let me try Ovechkin's...huh.”

 

“What?” In the bed by the door, Benn was stirring. He glanced around the room, pulling away from Seguin gently and sitting up against the headboard. Johnny gave him a sarcastic wave while Corey ran Ovechkin’s tweet through a translator.

 

“Google's only translating half of it. Something to do with marriage.”

 

"That doesn't help."

 

"Online translators," Corey said in a 'what can do you?' tone of voice.

 

Johnny sighed. “They’re starting to wake up. I’ll call you back.” Johnny clicked off his phone. Seguin had shoved Schenn’s foot away and rolled over, plastering his face into his pillow and groaning. Benn whispered something to him and Seguin slapped at his face and crawled up to his knees. He rested his head on the headboard.

 

Johnny looked up Ovechkin’s twitter, finding the photo Corey had described. It was clearly self-taken. Ovechkin had his arm wrapped over Benn and Seguin and Schenn was crouched down in front. Johnny smiled from over Ovechkin’s shoulder and wore a cheap bow tie like male strippers in movies wore.

 

“Either of you feel like newlyweds?” Johnny asked. Benn jumped and Seguin glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

 

“What?” he demanded. Then, his eyes fell and widened. “That’s a wedding ring.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Shit.”

 

Benn pat his shoulder. “They’re not going to trade you,” he said.

 

Seguin laughed once, harshly. “What the hell happened?”

 

Johnny shrugged, feeling somewhat better now that he wasn’t alone in his questions. “I was a best man.”

 

Schenn rolled out of the bed, the loud thump followed by a string of curses.

 

“Who’s that?” Benn asked, waving toward the other bed.

 

“Ovechkin. He posted a photo.”

 

“Shit, shit, shit.” Seguin scrambled out of the bed, tripped over Schenn, and collapsed into the bathroom. Johnny wrinkled his nose at the ensuing noise of vomiting.

 

“Can I see?” Benn asked, holding out his hand. Johnny crossed the room and handed him the phone. “This is it?”

 

“All Crow--Crawford--could find.” He paused. “You don’t seem that hungover.”

 

Benn flickered a smile at the phone and handed it back to Johnny. “I’m not,” he said. “I should find my phone.” He got out of bed and started sorting through the pile of clothes.

 

“So, who’s married.”

 

“Nobody.” He started flicking through screens on his phone, then, sighing, put it down on the dresser by the tv. “Yeah, just a misunderstanding.”

 

“There’s a ring.”

 

Benn glanced at the nightstand. He smiled. “Yeah, that’s mine.”

 

“But you’re not married.”

 

“Nope. Can’t be.”

 

Johnny rubbed at his forehead and glanced around the room. Ovechkin was still snoring. Schenn looked like he’d passed out again. Seguin was slouched against the bathtub with his head between his knees. The cheap bowtie dangled over the edge of a lamp. “Right,” he said, grabbing his jeans and pulling a shirt out of the pile. He could stay and try to push the answers out of Benn, but since no one else seemed to know anything and the only hint of it on social media was a group photo, he was going to take the win and get out. “You have this?” he asked Benn as he pulled on the shirt.

 

“Go,” Benn said.

 

Johnny checked his pockets, grabbed his phone, and left. Other than the expected chirping from his teammates, Johnny forgot about the weird morning as best he could.

 

It wasn’t until months later when Corey was talking about one his brother's friends who was apparently dating a guy and was serious enough about it to consider marriage, that he thought of the event again.

 

“Least they can get married in Boston. Sam’s from Philly. They’re still all gay is evil shit.”

 

 _Can’t be._ Johnny remembered the hotel room--Ovechkin’s snores, the harsh light from the bathroom, Benn’s weird smile when he looked at the ring--and asked, “What about Nevada?”

 

“How do you think I’d know that?”

 

“Please, Corey?”

 

Corey rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. “Let me google that for you. And, no, no gay marriage in Nevada. Why?”

 

_Can’t be._

 

“Johnny?”

 

Johnny shook his head. “Nothing. Thanks for looking that up.” Johnny walked away and wondered what he should get Benn and Seguin as a wedding present. He was, after all, the best man.


	2. Benn, or, Two Guys and a Bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after Toews leaves the hotel room? (Benn/Seguin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. When I write fic, I sometimes respond to comments with ficlets. That was my intention here. ...and then it grew. I don't plan on adding more, I don't think, but I also didn't want to stick an over 600 word ficlet in a comment.
> 
> (If you like the ambiguity of the first chapter, you can ignore this.)

After Toews left, Jamie slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. Tyler didn't move, his knees were by his ears and his hands laced over the back of neck. Jamie wet a washcloth with warm water and knelt down by Tyler. He pulled his chin upward and gently cleaned Tyler's mouth. Tyler stared past him at the bathroom counter.

"Gotta say, that wasn't how I expected to spend my wedding night," he said. 

Instead of the hint of a smile he had hoped for, Tyler leaned back, out of his touch. "We're not married," he said. "We just said a bunch of shit in the backroom of a bar."

Jamie frowned. "Did you mean it?"

"Does it matter? It'll hit Deadspin or something and--" he looked away.

Jamie clenched his jaw. He pulled Tyler's face so that he was looking at him again. "Tyler, you had an awesome season. This isn't Boston. And--" he took a deep breath "--no one knows what happened anyway. All that matters right now is you and me. _Did you mean it?_ "

Tyler stared at him. Noise rushed into the silence--the rattle-hum of the air conditioner, Ovechkin's snores, even the damn faucet dripping--he was deafened, like he was standing in a stadium, not kneeling on a bathroom floor with the guy he had not expected to fall so fast and fully for. Tyler bit his lip. "Yeah. Did you?" He was quiet, but sure; and, he silenced everything.

Jamie grinned and settled back against the tub beside Tyler. "Yeah, I did." He laced their fingers together. "I'd wear it if I could, you know. I mean, if you got it resized to fit normal sized fingers and not elf ones, I'd wear it. Not on my left hand, but, you know." He shrugged, wishing Tyler had interrupted his ramble or that he had, at least, stopped himself.

Tyler leaned against him. "I don't know if I'm ready to be married," he admitted. Jamie froze, remembering to breathe when Tyler's grip on his fingers tightened. "Just, it hasn't even been a year." The pinching plea in his voice relaxed Jamie; Tyler wasn't letting go.

Jamie took another breath. "So we'll call it a promise, then."

"A promise ring?" Tyler asked, his brows arched in clear and unwarranted judgement.

"Dick." Jamie bumped his shoulder against him. "Just a promise. That we're, you know, solid. Stable. That one day--" he trailed off as someone pounded on the bathroom door.

"Dude, I gotta piss," Luke groaned.

Jamie rolled his eyes, but got up. Tyler flushed the toilet and washed his hands while Jamie opened the door.

"I was just--" He had no idea what excuse to give.

"Please," Luke said, stumbling past him. "I remember what we were toasting last night." Tyler met Jamie's eyes in the mirror. "Stop your panicking. I'm not telling anyone shit. Now get out. S'not my dick you two are interested in."

Tyler barked a surprised laugh and left the bathroom. In the main room, Ovechkin was still spread-eagled on the bed by the window. "How long do you think he'll sleep?" Tyler asked, sorting out the pile of clothing.

"No clue. You want to wait for him?"

"Nah." Tyler tossed Jamie a white shirt with black collar. "Guessing this is yours now. Toews take yours?"

"He was in a hurry." They got dressed quickly. Tyler threw a shirt and pair of slacks at Luke when he finished in the bathroom. Jamie caught Tyler's eye as he slipped the ring into his pocket. Tyler nodded. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Nice to meet you, Luke."

"Anytime, Seguin. You keep Benn here happy, okay?"

"Think I can manage that," Tyler replied, smiling slyly at Jamie. He was looser now without the stress pulling him tight. He might have been joking with Luke, but when he looked at Jamie--

Jamie swallowed. "We should go."

Luke laughed. "Get. And, seriously, guys, congrats."

Jamie pulled Luke into a quick hug. "Thanks."

In the taxi back to their own hotel, Tyler slouched against Jamie, playing lightly with his inseam. "Move in with me," he said, quietly enough that Jamie thought he'd imagined it.

"What?"

Tyler glanced at the taxi driver and then got out his phone. He typed in a quick text. _Move in with me._

Jamie thought about the mornings they'd shared over the past year, even before they'd gotten together and had just crashed on one another's couch or spare bed. The nights, curled in a single bed or bleary-eyed over milk in the kitchen, both unable to sleep and just talking about what they wanted to prove to the world and themselves. And Tyler was right--they weren't ready to get married, not really, but maybe they were ready for this, for promises. He took the phone from Tyler and typed, _Yes._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was beta'd by my roommate. The original prompt read: Jonathan Toews wakes up in a random hotel room with a major hangover and 4 random NHL players. What did they do last night!?


End file.
